“What do you mean?” Erica asked
over the phone. I could picture her
face, puzzled.
“I mean that it was awful,” I whined. “Seriously, so bad. It seemed like he had no idea what he was
doing.” It was two days after my date
with Mike ended in bedroom disaster, and I was only now getting a chance to
tell Erica about it.
“Maybe he was nervous?” Erica
suggested. “I mean, I’ve met him, and he
doesn’t seem like the type to not know what he’s doing in bed.”
“But he didn’t,” I told her. “I guess he could have been nervous, but I
don’t think nervousness is enough to make anyone completely forget that a thing
called a clit exists, Erica.”
“Oh, that is bad,” she said. “Well…” She trailed off, unable to complete
her sentence. We were both quiet for
several seconds and then she said, “Are you going to give it another shot?”
“I like him otherwise,” I
replied. “He’s really funny, and he’s
smart, and he’s really nice to me…Well, to everyone.”
“You didn’t answer the question,
Jen.”
“Yeah, I will. Maybe he was
just nervous. I shouldn’t get rid of
someone just because of one bad round of sex, right?” I felt like I was trying
to talk myself into it, and I probably was.
“No, not someone who is otherwise
awesome,” Erica said firmly.
I sighed and nodded, even though
she couldn’t see me. I was really disappointed
that the sex with Mike had been awful.
You know how when it’s good, even if you don’t get off, you still enjoy
yourself? Yeah, there was none of that. There was very little that was enjoyable at
all. Making out with him was fun, but
that’s where it stopped.
“Sorry, Jenna, I have to go,” Erica
said, interrupting my self-pity party.
“John is going to be home soon and I have to figure out what we’re going
to do for dinner.”
“Okay,” I replied. “Well, I’ll let you know how round 2
goes.”
We said goodbye and I got on with
my evening, making myself some dinner and then eating and cleaning up the
kitchen quickly. I was eager to get back
to my computer. I had stopped returning
Dan’s calls and texts (and he had only called once and texted once before he
got the picture) but had just started talking to a new guy from the dating
site, and so far he had my interest.
I plopped onto the couch and opened
my laptop. After I logged into the
dating site, I clicked around, looking at a couple profiles before I went to my
messages. I saw the guy I had been
talking to was online, and we started chatting.
By the time I went to bed, we’d set up a date for Friday, and I also had
scheduled a date with Mike for Saturday.
On Friday, I walked into the bar
where I was supposed to meet Chris, the guy from the dating site. I looked around, not recognizing anyone. “Jenna?” I heard a tentative voice say, and
my head snapped towards it. “Hi!” said a
person who looked vaguely like the pictures of Chris on the site…and I realized
the pictures were taken about 5 years and 50 pounds ago. He stood and I walked over. He looked me up and down and then said,
“You’re even prettier than your pictures!”
“Umm, thanks,” I said, thrown off
by the fact that he barely looked like his at all. “You do too,” I said automatically, quickly
following it with an awkward laugh when I realized my mistake.
Chris immediately started laughing
hysterically. “Well, I’ve never been
told I was pretty before!” he said, laughing away.
“Me neither,” I said. I actually smacked my forehead when I
realized what an idiot I sounded like. I
left my palm over my eyes for a couple seconds and hoped that Chris was
laughing too loudly to have heard.
“Anyway, I ordered you a drink!”
Chris told me. Everything he said
sounded like he was incredibly excited about it. “I didn’t actually know what you liked, so I
just got you a gin and tonic, because everyone likes those!”
Everyone except for me,
apparently. I smiled politely and took a
sip, forcing my face to stay neutral as I swallowed the disgusting
concoction. “How considerate,” I said,
putting the drink down.
“You’re welcome! I also ordered us an appetizer! I hope you like shrimp!” This date had only been going on for 5
minutes and it was already the worst date of my life.
“Oh, great,” I forced out. “You really thought of everything. So, um, what do you do again?”
“I work in finance!” he replied
proudly. I tried my best to be polite
and friendly, and he gladly droned on about his job for the next 20
minutes. While he mentioned his 6 figure
income several times, he didn’t even notice I’d barely touched my drink or the
appetizer.
When he got up to use the bathroom,
I signaled to our waiter, who came over.
I shoved a $10 bill and my mostly full gin and tonic at him and said,
“Can you take this and bring me back a vodka soda with a lime? If you can make it happen before he comes
back, you’ll be my hero.” He gave me a
knowing grin and hurried over to the bar.
I watched him lean over the bar and talk to the bartender, then he slid
behind the bar and made the drink himself.
He returned with the drink and my change, which I waved off. Just as he left the table, I saw Chris
approaching from the bathroom. I took a
long drink out of my glass, relieved that it didn’t taste like Christmas.
“Did you miss me?” he asked,
sitting back down. He didn’t wait for me
to respond, just started laughing. I
took another long drink, closing my eyes so I didn’t roll them. Now that I enjoyed my drink, it was gone
within minutes. “Waiter!” Chris called,
spotting my empty glass. “Waiter!” He
waved at our waiter, making me cringe.
When he approached, looking bemused, Chris said, “Could you bring the lady
another G and T?” G and T? Really?
I gave the waiter a weak smile as he strode away.
“You won’t have to wait long,” he
assured me. “People understand the
importance of working quickly around people like me.”
“People…like you?” I asked, unable
to hide my confusion.
He smiled at me and patted the back
of my hand like I was a child.
“Important people who work with large sums of money,” he said
slowly. I wasn’t sure what had happened
in the bathroom, but I did know that he went in brimming with enthusiasm and
came out as a condescending asshole.
Our waiter returned quickly, and
a sip of the drink told me it was another vodka soda. I gave him a grateful smile and he winked at
me before he turned to leave. “See?”
Chris said. “People don’t keep me
waiting.” He gave me a pointed look when
he said that, and I sputtered a little in surprise. Then he grinned widely and said, “I’m just
kidding with you, Jenny!”
“It’s, uh, Jenna, actually…” I
said.
“That’s what I said,” he told me,
waving his hand dismissively.
“Oh,” I replied. “I thought—“
He cut me off, saying, “But you
don’t have to think tonight! Tonight is
for fun! Oh, let me tell about this time
that my coworker lost a major account and I…” I tuned out as he blabbered on
and on about work.
When I finished my drink, I
yawned. “Oh man,” I said, interrupting
his 17th story about how an incompetent coworker screwed something
up and he saved the day. “I’d better get
going. Can’t drink anymore, I need to
drive myself home.”
“Well, why didn’t you take a cab or
something?” he asked, looking really perplexed.
“I’m thinking about getting a driver, actually. Did you know that—“
“Really, I need to go,” I said
firmly, interrupting him again. I pulled
out my wallet. “Here, let me—“
It was his turn to interrupt
me. “Don’t be silly!” he said. “I never let a beautiful girl pay for her
drinks.”
“Of course,” I replied. I considered just throwing some cash on the
table and running, but decided this was not a hill I wanted to die on. I just wanted to get the hell out. “Thank you,” I said, forcing a smile. “Have a good night.”
“Wait,” he said, looking confused
as I stood up. “I can walk you out. When can I see you again?”
I shook my head and said, “Thank
you for the drinks, but I’m not interested in seeing you again.” I took advantage of his obvious shock and
hurried towards the door.
I got to my car safely, but as I
was unlocking the door I heard someone call, “Hey, wait a sec!” I yanked the
door open quickly, ready to make my escape, before I realized the voice didn’t
sound a thing like Chris’s. I turned
cautiously, and saw our waiter hurrying after me. I waited to see what he wanted. He slowed when he approached me. “My name is Ryan, I don’t work in finance,
and I make a mean vodka soda,” he said, winking. Then he shoved a cocktail napkin into my
hand, turned, and jogged back towards the restaurant.
I stood in the cold, not sure how
to react. Finally, I got into my car,
turned on the light, and smoothed out the crumpled napkin. Scrawled across it was “Ryan” and a phone
number. He was cute, but he looked
young. I tossed the napkin into my purse
for now and headed for home.